My Hero My Killer
by Valairy Scot
Summary: A short story set post Geonosis, then at the Temple slaying.


I saw my death in his eyes, at age eight, only I didn't know it then.

My age mates and I had just finished a lightsaber training class. I wanted to stay and work on my form, for my footwork had betrayed me this day, so I told Rynne and Darlynie not to wait for me. I stayed another half hour until I was exhausted and hungry, before deciding I would not master this new movement in one day only.

Such quick learning was for such talented Jedi as Anakin Skywalker. As Jedi we were not supposed to idealize any one individual, but as younglings looking forward to being chosen as Padawans within a few years, we certainly sought to emulate him. He wasn't our hero, but he was one whose example we wished to follow.

His skill at physical exercises was worthy of our uncritical respect. He was the best in his class and indeed, challenged the masters in many things. He would be a strong Jedi – one who would always be an example to us – the very model of a Jedi.

How could he not be? He was quick and smart, a hard worker, and fortunate to be the Padawan of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not only was Master Kenobi one of the few Knights to earn his rank in the field, but he was unflinchingly gentle tempered. He demanded the utmost from all those he dealt with, but he drove himself just as hard as others. He was fair and even handed, if tough, and his eyes always had a twinkle in them.

No, we were never nervous to encounter either of them, unlike with most of the older masters, or Force forbid, most of the Council members. I still remember how fumbling we all were when Master Mace Windu came to observe our classes one time not long ago. Even the most graceful amongst us had trouble that day.

It was shortly after the Battle of Geonosis. We knew what had transpired, of course. The Temple had lost much of its serenity: its halls both empty and bustling. There were so many Jedi who had not returned and there was something akin to a hole in the Force. The very air thrummed with sorrow, and with purpose.

Even those of us too young to be involved in any manner could not help but note the restrained grief and sadness that surrounded us. It was most notable when the more mature Jedi – Padawans, Knights, and Masters – passed each other. It wasn't relief, not really, in their eyes: it was recognition and pleasure that the other was yet alive. So many weren't.

Sometimes we encountered those Masters or Padawans that had lost the corresponding partner, and even as young as we were, we were quick to move away. We didn't understand the mourning in their eyes, and for once, were in no hurry to grow up. We didn't want to know such loss. That much we understood.

All Jedi on missions and detached duty had been called back to the Temple as the Peacekeepers of the Galaxy prepared to transform into Officers of the Republic's Army. No one was happy about this, but it was their duty. Our duty.

I was tired enough that I wasn't paying attention when I left the practice salle, and I just barely stopped short of bumping into sand-colored trousers tucked into dark brown boots. I was about to burble an ashamed apology, but before I could get my mouth open, an amused voice chuckled at me.

"Master K'yiam, deep in meditation?" He actually stopped to look at me, and put a hand on my shoulder with a half-cocked eyebrow, awaiting my response.

"I am so sorry, Master Kenobi," I stammered, both in dismay at my own lack of awareness and pleasure that he actually had a small smile on his face. Since his return from Geonosis, the few times I had seen him in passing he had seemed to have lost his sparkle, so quiet and self-contained that I was sure he must be sick. So many of the Jedi who had returned from Geonosis were grim and quiet these days. Smiles were sad ones, and rare these days, and laughter only existed in the crèche and classrooms of the young.

Heartless and humorless many sentients thought the Jedi were, though I knew better, though that description – almost –seemed now to be true, if one went by outward appearances.

"How is Anakin, sir?" Of course we knew of the loss of his arm, and that he had been back at the Temple for only a short while. It rather added to his mystery and aura.

"He is well," Master Kenobi assured me, though a small frown creased his brow as if he wasn't sure, himself. "I shall be sure to let him know of your concern. I am on my way to meet him now." He looked at me, and that half smile came back. "Would you like to come along and ask him how he's doing for yourself? We were planning to try a little sparring as he adjusts to his arm."

"Oh, wow, oh, yes sir, I would like that," I blurted. This would be a tale for my age mates all right. I, K'yiam Del Toro, got to watch a sparring match at Master Kenobi's own request. I had to trot a bit to keep up with Master Kenobi; he was used to the long strides of his Padawan, not the short strides of a youngling anticipating his future.

As I followed him down the hall, I couldn't help wondering…everyone agreed Anakin Skywalker was extremely talented and would probably be Knighted well ahead of most of his age mates. Maybe, just maybe, if he made Knight before my thirteenth lifeday, might someday Master Kenobi be interested in – well, me?

Ahead of me, the Jedi's steps faltered just a bit as if he had picked up on my thoughts. He might have, shielding isn't perfect for any of us at this age. He didn't say anything, though, but I had to wonder if that half smile of his had crossed his face, or a frown, at the idea of a new Padawan.

Master Kenobi opened the door and graciously motioned to me to enter ahead of him. Anakin was already in the room, pacing back and forth like a caged Kyrock. His eyes flickered to me, and back to Master Kenobi with a question.

Gravely, not a hint of laughter in his voice, Master Kenobi said solemnly, "this young man had a request to make of you," and he gave me just the smallest of encouraging squeezes on my shoulder.

I bowed, and trying not to sound too immature, I asked, "I wished to know how you were doing, Master Skywalker."

He didn't answer right away, and I guess I gave a little half step back. Right into Master Kenobi. Great, I kept running into the man. Graceful me. I looked up and caught a firm glance cross the air between them as Master Kenobi gave the merest hint of shaking his head.

I could almost see the effort that his Padawan put into being welcoming. "I am recovering well, even if my own Master wishes to check my 'skills' out for himself." He took a deep breath, and suddenly smiled. "Thanks, kid, for asking. Do you want to watch?"

I nodded back, and found a quiet spot out of the way.

The two Jedi ignited their lightsabers and stood easily, waiting each for the other to make the first move. I didn't see who moved first, but suddenly they were moving in a graceful dance. They weren't going full tilt, it was obvious, as they both knew Anakin's balance and style might be off with his replacement arm, but it was still dazzling to watch.

Anakin was by far the flashier one, wielding his lightsaber in long arcs and powerful sweeps. Master Kenobi seemed barely to move, his blade flickering fast and yet easily keeping up with Anakin's more sweeping style.

After several minutes, the pace picked up as they seemed to agree there was no need to hold back. I saw Anakin threw a smile in my direction, and suddenly he was behind his maser, his lightsaber in his other hand and sweeping in for the touch to the neck that signaled the bout's end. _Oh, good move_, I thought in awe. _He's really good_.

"Oh, really, Anakin," Master Kenobi suddenly spoke up, and somehow he had not only evaded Anakin's move, but had danced in and out, having already touched his lightsaber to his Padawan's neck.

I could see Anakin had tensed his shoulders and his eyes had grown cold, almost empty. By the way Master Kenobi almost flinched, I was pretty sure he had thrown up his shields. That was pretty unusual for a Padawan to do to his Master, especially in such a situation as this.

He reached out a hand, but it stopped short before actually touching Anakin. "Is something the problem? Does your arm bother you?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, wiping the sweat off his face with his sleeve. His voice was hard.

"Anakin?" The name came very gently from Master Kenobi's lips, and his eyes were concerned, his brow wrinkled as he probed for an answer or way to help. He looked anxious and apprehensive, like he knew something was wrong, not just supposed.

"Just leave me alone," he growled, and pushed his way out of the room. As he passed by, I caught a glimpse into his eyes. They were full of rage and fury, as if the match had unleashed something in him. They were…cold, and for some reason, I suddenly shivered. Those were not the eyes of a Jedi. They were the eyes of a hunter.

"Something happened to him, on Tatooine and Geonosis," Master Kenobi breathed, shaking his head uncertainly. "I wish he would confide in me. I wish I could help him with…whatever." His voice was sad as his words trickled off; he seemed to have forgotten my presence. I didn't remind him, as I slid quietly away.

I had almost forgotten all about that encounter. Yet, here I was now, some years later, trapped with several of my age mates and one of our instructors, surrounded by death. The Temple had been filled with the sound of blaster bolts and the buzz of lightsabers for some time now. There was no escape, except into the arms of the Force. We knew that now. We would face our end bravely, as Jedi.

The Clonetroopers, our army, had turned against us. Why? The question needed no answer. It was pointless. It was time to die defending the Temple, the Jedi, and the "why" didn't matter.

We fought bravely, as Jedi, and we died as Jedi. I was the last, and even as I fell, my eyes fell on the man who had led these troops into our very halls. Anakin Skywalker! Our eyes connected; I remembered when I had first seen my death in them. I hadn't known, then, what I had seen, and saw now. That was the last sight I saw; that memory, my last: my death, in his eyes


End file.
